Things just had to end the way they did for the Red Sox, it’s the natural order of things for the team, the type of epic finale the team is conditioned to deliver to its fans every fall. When the Red Sox win, they pull off the greatest comeback in all time (2004 ALCS v. Yankees) and when they collapse they collapse bigger and more completely than any other team in history (this September’s plunge). I’ve screamed at too many televisions, walked away and ignored the team too many times (only to be sucked back over and over and over) but this time, for the first time since 1967 it felt somehow right, like all was well in the world and life was proceeding according to some unseen plot written by an invisibly cruel author with a sense of melodramatic wit and irony. As it happened, as the thinnest of leads stood in the ninth inning, I knew with 100% certainty how it would end.
And so it ended.
I cheer for Fenway Park, the uniform, the memories of past Gods and all the beserk Massholes who get worked up like the fanatics we are. No need to climb the Mystic River Bridge today and throw ourselves into the dirty water, no need to point fingers, be ashamed, or blog plaintive purple elegies. I just hope this season cleans house and sees certain irritations go away. Namely: the eighth inning singing of Sweet Caroline. I hate this song. To quote my favorite Red Sox blog, Surviving Grady:
Do away with the song, watch me buy a pink hat, kill the Wave, and suck for a few seasons so I can move up the waiting list for season tickets. That’s all I ask.
I’m rooting for the Tigers now.